


Carry You

by raspberrylimonade



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Multi, Sciles, Scott has so much respect for Lydia, Stydia, scydia - Freeform, with a teensy bit of humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 09:35:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15883386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raspberrylimonade/pseuds/raspberrylimonade
Summary: Scott McCall carrying his pack members bridal style.





	Carry You

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what this is or where this came from, I just thought we all deserved to see Scott carrying people bridal style because let's be real, he is the most marry-able person on the show. Also most of this is hella angsty for which I must apologise to Scott himself because he deserves nothing but all the happiness in the world.
> 
> I am [raspberrylimonade](http://raspberrylimonade.tumblr.com) on tumblr and [stlnskissmartin](http://twitter.com/stlnskissmartin) on twitter!

_**1\. Allison** _

It’s a terrible thing, to feel the exact moment someone dies. To hear their last breath, their final heartbeat, feel their body still in one’s arms.

She’s _gone._

When he tucks his head into her neck, he doesn’t feel the pulse in her veins, only his tears slipping onto her skin.

Footsteps approach. Scott can smell the cologne and gunpowder that follow Chris. He tries to look up, but can only sob as his neck collapses under the weight of his head.

It’s still not as heavy as his heart.

He leans over Allison’s body, hunching closer to her as if she can still catch the organ plummeting through the bottom of his chest before it splatters against the asphalt.

There is nothing to catch. His heart fell to the ground the moment he heard the sword pierce through her flesh, followed by Lydia’s scream resonating through the ground and ringing in his ears.

He wonders what it must be like for Lydia, to feel death deep within her bones, clawing its way out through her throat. His eyes meet hers briefly as she emerges from the tunnels. Stiles is draped over her, looking near lifeless himself. The small banshee is practically holding him up.

He starts to think maybe Lydia is the strongest of them all.

“Scott.”

He doesn’t want to - can’t look up, can’t bear to see his own pain reflected in Chris Argent’s eyes.

“Scott, we need to go.”

It’s eerily quiet but for Lydia’s half-gasps-half-sobs in the background and everyone else’s ragged breaths. The gravel shuffling beneath them sounds too loud, too obscene, too irreverent, as he hooks his arm under Allison’s knees, pulls her onto his lap, into his chest, somehow pulls himself up. His slow, heavy footsteps like bombs shattering the silence as he plods to the parking lot.

He always dreamed of carrying her in his arms.

But not like this. Not with her arms hanging limp at her sides instead of wrapped around his neck, her head lolled backwards instead of pressed into his shoulder, her eyes closed instead of bright and shining as they gaze up at him.

It hits him then, that every memory he has made with her - that’s all they have. All they will ever have. The aching realisation clenches around his chest as he lowers her into the backseat of her father’s van, careful not to jostle her body as choked sobs start to wreck through him.

And then Chris Argent is yanking him aside and Lydia is pushing past him with tears streaking across her cheeks and all he can do is hold onto the chain-link fence like it’s the only left for him on Earth.

* * *

 

_**2\. Liam** _

Guilt eats at him when he looks down at Liam whimpering in his arms.

Somewhere along the lines, when he finally accepted that he was a werewolf now and there was no going back, he swore he would never use his abilities for his own gain. Not like Peter, or Derek, or Deucalion and every other werewolf before him.

He also vowed never to bring onto others the same thing that was brought onto him that night in the woods.

He has broken both of these in the same day.

It’s the second time in 24 hours that Scott has to carry Liam like this. The first was when he had to hoist the kid onto a stretcher. He’d done it without hesitation, hooking his arms under Liam’s thighs so he would not accidentally jostle any part below Liam’s knee. He lacks all grace now, doesn’t even have a good grip on the constantly struggling younger boy. He might as well be man-handling an injured animal, which is a terrible no-no, but his heart is pounding hard and fast and he can’t think straight.

Good thing then, that Liam’s injuries are already healing, although thinking about why this is so makes Scott panic even more.

Oh shit oh shit oh shit. He _bit_ someone.

Liam’s eyes are wide with fear. He wriggles in Scott’s arms, and Scott just wants to reassure him that he won’t hurt him, but the words lump painfully in his throat. _Bullshit, you already did._

He just silently prays that Liam doesn’t discover how strong he can be now. As invincible as Stiles likes to claim duct tape is, Scott isn’t sure how it will hold up against a werewolf, and he doesn’t want to find out. Right now, he hopes Liam doesn’t run away, not when someone could paint a target on his back.

He has no idea what to do. He’s not ready for a beta, much less a kid.

“I’m so sorry about this,” he breathes as he carefully deposits the freshman in the backseat of his mother’s car.

It’s only later, when he pulls up in front of his house that he realises, _shit_ , he kidnapped a kid. His mother would be home in a few hours and she would certainly not approve. He has to hide Liam, and fast.

He picks the younger teen up again, holding him in his shaky arms, and decides the best place to leave him was the bathtub. At least there was a shower curtain, right?

Then he calls Stiles.

* * *

 

_**3\. Kira** _

It’s a good thing he takes AP Biology, because Scott doesn’t think he would be able to sit in Physics class and read about circuits and currents ever again. Not after the last time. Not after this.

Last time, he could take it. He could take the pain knowing that Lydia wouldn’t have to. But this time, it still hurts, because the currents vibrating through his nerves and over his skin, they run through Kira too, and nothing he does can stop it. He can only pray it doesn’t get worse.

But it gets worse. Of course it does. The Dread Doctors are here, and he doesn’t know what they are or what they want yet, but he is not going to take his chances. He pulls the girl’s limp body closer to him, ignoring the hard pulses of electricity that rip through his chest. His legs feel heavy, his entire body cramped from resisting the pain, but he grits his teeth and forces himself to move.

Lamps burst over his head, raining sparks down on him. They burst against his skin, stinging as they do so. Some land on Kira and fizz in her hair. It’s almost like when they were at the power plant, and she somehow absorbed all the sparks, except that this time, she’s not in control.

He’s worried, that he can’t help her figure out what’s wrong with her powers, that he won’t get her out of the facility in time. Every bone in his body is screaming for him to drop her, or collapse, or drop her and collapse.

He should have just told her, he thinks in despair. He should have told her how he felt when he had the chance, when she confronted him about it. Why hadn’t he, then? Why did he freeze?

Somehow he makes it outside, the fresh air and sudden lack of mountain ash hitting him like a double punch to the gut. He stumbles to his knees, careful not to drop his girlfriend but instead slowly lowering her to the ground. His muscles cry in relief as electricity stops flowing through them.

It’s not just the reduced contact. Being out of that building sees to have, ah, _grounded_ Kira. He still sees sparks of currents racing over parts of her body, but they appear in fits and starts now, not the constant hum that he’d witnessed inside.

He can’t relax yet, though. Her skin looks paler than usual. Her body is still but for spasms as the electricity courses through her. He’s not even sure she’s alive.

Scott shifts closer, hands ghosting over the fabric of her clothing, careful not to shock himself with skin contact. He leans over her, straining to hear a breath, or a heartbeat. His own breath is held, scared of what he might find, scared of how tonight might end, on a cold ground with someone he loved cradled in his arms, and words left unsaid.

He can’t lose anyone else like this, not after Allison.

At first, he hears nothing but the low hum of electricity, eerily similar to what Lydia described last year, like a buzzing of flies.

And then, Kira awakes.

He heaves a sigh of relief as she inhales raggedly, squeezes his eyes shut in relief as hers blink open, confused by her surroundings.

When she looks up at him and clutches onto his arm, still gulping down air, he instantly decides he needs to tell her.

“I meant it,” he says, and grips her tighter when she smiles in understanding.

* * *

 

_**4\. Lydia** _

His heart is pounding, as loud as the gunshots still ringing in his ears, the glass shattering around them, Lydia’s scream for them to get down -

_Lydia._

He tears his gaze away from his mother when he hears her high-pitched whine that reminds him all too much of when they were speeding away from Eichen House, Lydia tucked in the crook of Stiles’ arm in the back of the jeep as she struggled to withstand the pain and her screams.

Lydia looks beautiful in red, but Scott wishes she didn’t have to wear the color of her own blood ever so often.

He finds himself glancing between the two closest women to him left in his life, both lying on the floor. It’s Chris Argent’s voice that breaks him out of the pattern.

“Go get her,” he instructs Scott, jerking his bearded chin towards Lydia. “We’ll take our cars. We can’t trust an ambulance right now.”

Scott looks back at Lydia, down at his mother, up to meet the man’s tired eyes. Chris gives him a nod. It’s a silent exchange between the two men. Scott carried his daughter, Chris will carry his mother.

He squeezes his mother’s hand one last time before spinning around and sliding across the floor to Lydia, ignorant of the shards digging into his pants.

Liam and Malia are still trying to detangle Lydia and Mason, the latter clutching his arm. Blood is seeping between his fingers, but he insists he is fine.

“She covered me,” he babbles. “She covered me.”

Lydia, it seems, is still trying to cover him, absolutely refusing to let either of them get off the floor. It takes both Scott and Malia to finally free Mason from under the banshee’s weight. Scott sucks in a breath when they finally roll Lydia over onto her back.

The bullet must have entered and exited her, and Scott is faced with the stark reminder of Lydia on the floor of the Sheriff’s station. If he weren’t panicking, he would hang his head at how quickly he had believed she was fine then, at how he couldn’t prevent her from being in this position again.

His breath is ragged and his hands are shaking but he manages to hook one arm under her knees, the other across her back, and pull her into his chest. In the background, Chris and solemnly giving orders to the others, go to the cars, call the Sheriff, but Scott moves on autopilot, his focus morbidly locked in on Lydia.

When he stands, the shifting of his weight jostles Lydia and she groans. The sound causes Scott’s muscles to clench, holding her closer to him. He can feel the veins in his arms dilating as he takes her pain, as much as he can.

“You’ll be okay, Lydia, okay?” he mumbles. “We’re gonna get you to the hospital. The Sheriff is on his way. I’m gonna call your mom, and Stiles - ”

“ _No!_ ” Lydia jerks and grabs at his chest, her fingers smearing blood down the front of his jacket. “Do _not_ call Stiles.”

“Lydia, he would - you can’t just - ”

“ _You can’t call Stiles,_ ” she rasps, fisting his shirt in her hands. She grits her teeth as she attempts to pull herself closer to him - or him closer to her. Scott gulps because she could exacerbate her injury, and also because even when she’s bleeding out from a bullet wound, Lydia Martin can be _terrifying._

She looks down at her body then, whimpering when she sees her blouse soaked deep red, almost black where the entry wound is. Scott tightens his grip on her as she squeezes her eyes shut.

“Hey, hey hey hey, you’re okay Lydia,” he tells her helplessly. “You’re going to be okay.” He tries to draw more of her pain, and frowns when nothing seems to be happening. It’s almost as if her body is resisting him, or suppressing the pain altogether.

“It can’t be Stiles,” she sniffs, eyes still shut tight like she’s trying to unsee the carnage on her torso. “Don’t let it be Stiles.”

It then dawns on Scott that she’s not crying because she’s in pain. She’s crying because she looks at herself and sees Stiles in her place. Suddenly, that’s all Scott can see as well. Stiles, with blood splattered across the front of his shirt and his face, the blood of a man that nearly shot him between the eyes. Stiles, staring down the barrel of a gun as their raging classmate held them hostage in the sheriff’s station. Stiles, vanishing in a puff of green smoke as the Ghost Riders ripped him away again.

He’s come so close so many times.

“Don’t,” Lydia whispers hoarsely, slipping out of consciousness. “Please.”

He will question himself later, but right then in his state of shock, Scott cannot argue with her.

* * *

 

_**5\. Stiles** _

Of all the people he’s carried, Stiles is definitely the least cooperative.

Never mind that he is tall and his limbs are long, which already make things more difficult. Stiles insists on clutching his foot, rocking back and forth as he screams hysterically.

Finally, Derek takes pity on Scott. He pulls a syringe of anaesthetic out of nowhere. Stiles shuts up as soon as he sees the needle, and his body eventually relaxes as the shot is administered.

Derek shrugs. “You don’t want to know what that was like.”

Scott adjusts in the backseat of Lydia’s car. Stiles is laying over his lap, long limbs everywhere. The anaesthetic must not be completely efficient, because while Stiles no longer seems to feel his _‘unbelievably excruciating’_ pain, he is still half-conscious and babbling away.

“Please don’t tell me I lost another toe,” he mumbles as Scott carefully removes his shoe.

The car door slams, and Scott isn’t sure if Derek just wants them to get Stiles treatment fast, or if he doesn’t want to hear Stiles mourn his minor appendage again. Then the pungent but all-too-familiar smell of blood invades Scott’s nasal passages, and he doesn’t want to think about Stiles losing his appendages either.

Up in front, Lydia slams her foot on the gas. Scott’s mind briefly wanders to another time where the three of them found themselves like this, except it was Scott driving the jeep while Stiles cradled Lydia in the backseat.

“Oh my god,” Stiles groans. “They’re gonna take me off the force.”

“They’re not gonna take you off the force,” Scott replies, although he doesn’t really know how injuries in the FBI work.

He winces when he finally pulls Stiles’ shoe off. It’s dark, but his keen werewolf vision can see that Stiles’ sock is soaked through with blood. There’s a darker spot in the middle where the bullet must have grazed him, and when Scott makes to remove the sock, finds that the blood around the wound has already crusted up.

But at least the bullet was nowhere near any toes.

“Oh, thank god,” Stiles cries when Scott tells him that much. Then he whimpers when the car jerks to a halt. Lydia spins around in the driver’s seat, apologies spilling from her lips. Scott is not sure how many red lights she beat, how many shortcuts and illegal turns she took for them to get here so fast.

They are in front of the old Argent house. The family had moved out years ago, but Derek recently bought over the property, just so the pack had one extra safe house they could go. Scott slides his arms under Stiles’ thighs and back again, and hefts him out of the car as soon as Lydia wrenches the door open for them.

He does not show the front door the same courtesy, simply kicking it open with his boot and carrying Stiles over to the lone couch in a spartan living room.

“How are you feeling?” Scott asks, setting Stiles down.

“You just carried me over the threshold, Scott,” Stiles rambles. “Like we got married. I would marry you, you know, but I have Lydia. I’m going to marry Lydia.”

There’s a small gasp, and Scott doesn’t need to see Lydia to picture the look on her face. Her eyes must be wide and glassy, a contrast to the dark eyeliner she had on tonight. She would roll both her lips inwards the way she did every time Stiles complemented her. (Yes, he noticed. It happens so often that any werewolf who hung out with them as often as Scott did would be embarrassed not to pick up on it.) Then finally, her tear-streaked face would break into a tremulous smile.

“I’m marrying Lydia,” Stiles repeats.

“Yeah, I know,” Scott mumbles. He hears Lydia’ heart skip a beat and glances over his shoulder. Sure enough, she’s standing rooted, staring at her boyfriend in disbelief. She releases her lips only to gape, then pulls them between her teeth again when she can’t come up with words to say.

“I know you do, I just told you that,” Stiles continues rambling. “Wait, why did I tell you that? You already knew that. I told you about it. _Oh my god, Scott -_ ”

Stiles jerks up suddenly, which causes Lydia to run over in case he might be in pain. She and Scott both reach for Stiles’ shoulders with the intention of coaxing him back down, but Stiles reaches out and grabs at Scott’s jacket. He hauls himself up to Scott until their noses are basically touching, and Scott briefly wonders what the _hell_ was in that anaesthetic.

“We need to go ring shopping,” Stiles says desperately, shaking Scott’s collar weakly. His eyes are wild and panicked, as if his whole life depends on the piece of jewellery.

_We_ have _gone ring shopping_ , Scott nearly reminds him, but stops himself in time. Lydia is right there. She is now propping Stiles’ injured leg up on some pillows, the revelation that her boyfriend plans on proposing to her not stopping her from getting down to business, but her eyes keep flicking to Stiles’ face, and Scott can see the anxiety from earlier being replaced with hope and exasperation.

Scott isn’t going to spoil Stiles’ plans more than Stiles himself already has.

So he pries his best friend’s hands from his collar with a gentle “I know”, then tells Lydia he is going to get bandages.

He returns to find Stiles passed out on the couch and Lydia kneeling on the floor, carefully pushing his hair out of his face as she strokes his forehead. She is not looking at Stiles though, but her hand that is wrapped around his.

If werewolves could read minds, Scott is pretty sure he would be seeing the image of rings in Lydia’s head.

As it is, he cannot read minds, but Lydia seems to be able to. She glances up at Scott, then quickly looks away, blush coating her cheeks. Scott briefly considers teasing her, then decides such an endeavour would yield the best results when Stiles is awake. So instead, he kneels next to the banshee wordlessly.

“I’ll take him upstairs. There’s a bed in one of the rooms,” he says softly.

Lydia nods and scoots aside for Scott to pick his best friend up for the third time. The strawberry blonde trails behind him as they manoeuvre up the stairs and into the nearest bedroom. She settles on the opposite edge of the bed as Scott lays Stiles onto the mattress.

_Just make sure I don’t have to do this on your actual wedding night,_ Scott thinks, giving Stiles’ sleeping face one last look before leaving the room.

Yeah, he is definitely using that line when Stiles wakes up.

 


End file.
